by John Fox
XXXIII
Clouds were gathering as Hale rode up the river after telling old Honand Uncle Billy good-by. He had meant not to go to the cabin in LonesomeCove, but when he reached the forks of the road, he stopped his horseand sat in indecision with his hands folded on the pommel of his saddleand his eyes on the smokeless chimney. The memories tugging at his heartdrew him irresistibly on, for it was the last time. At a slow walk hewent noiselessly through the deep sand around the clump of rhododendron.The creek was clear as crystal once more, but no geese cackled andno dog barked. The door of the spring-house gaped wide, the barn-doorsagged on its hinges, the yard-fence swayed drunkenly, and the cabin wasstill as a gravestone. But the garden was alive, and he swung from hishorse at the gate, and with his hands clasped behind his back walkedslowly through it. June's garden! The garden he had planned and plantedfor June--that they had tended together and apart and that, thanks tothe old miller's care, was the one thing, save the sky above, left inspirit unchanged. The periwinkles, pink and white, were almost gone. Theflags were at half-mast and sinking fast. The annunciation lilies werebending their white foreheads to the near kiss of death, but the pinkswere fragrant, the poppies were poised on slender stalks like brilliantbutterflies at rest, the hollyhocks shook soundless pink bells tothe wind, roses as scarlet as June's lips bloomed everywhere and therichness of mid-summer was at hand.
Quietly Hale walked the paths, taking a last farewell of plant andflower, and only the sudden patter of raindrops made him lift his eyesto the angry sky. The storm was coming now in earnest and he had hardlytime to lead his horse to the barn and dash to the porch when the veryheavens, with a crash of thunder, broke loose. Sheet after sheet sweptdown the mountains like wind-driven clouds of mist thickening into wateras they came. The shingles rattled as though with the heavy slappingof hands, the pines creaked and the sudden dusk outside made the cabin,when he pushed the door open, as dark as night. Kindling a fire, he lithis pipe and waited. The room was damp and musty, but the presence ofJune almost smothered him. Once he turned his face. June's door was ajarand the key was in the lock. He rose to go to it and look within andthen dropped heavily back into his chair. He was anxious to get awaynow--to get to work. Several times he rose restlessly and looked out thewindow. Once he went outside and crept along the wall of the cabin tothe east and the west, but there was no break of light in the murky skyand he went back to pipe and fire. By and by the wind died and the rainsteadied into a dogged downpour. He knew what that meant--there would beno letting up now in the storm, and for another night he was a prisoner.So he went to his saddle-pockets and pulled out a cake of chocolate, acan of potted ham and some crackers, munched his supper, went to bed,and lay there with sleepless eyes, while the lights and shadows from thewind-swayed fire flicked about him. After a while his body dozed but hisracked brain went seething on in an endless march of fantastic dreams inwhich June was the central figure always, until of a sudden young Daveleaped into the centre of the stage in the dream-tragedy forming in hisbrain. They were meeting face to face at last--and the place was the bigPine. Dave's pistol flashed and his own stuck in the holster as he triedto draw. There was a crashing report and he sprang upright in bed--butit was a crash of thunder that wakened him and that in that swiftinstant perhaps had caused his dream. The wind had come again and wasdriving the rain like soft bullets against the wall of the cabin nextwhich he lay. He got up, threw another stick of wood on the fire andsat before the leaping blaze, curiously disturbed but not by the dream.Somehow he was again in doubt--was he going to stick it out in themountains after all, and if he should, was not the reason, deep downin his soul, the foolish hope that June would come back again. No,he thought, searching himself fiercely, that was not the reason. Hehonestly did not know what his duty to her was--what even was his inmostwish, and almost with a groan he paced the floor to and fro. Meantimethe storm raged. A tree crashed on the mountainside and the lightningthat smote it winked into the cabin so like a mocking, malignant eyethat he stopped in his tracks, threw open the door and stepped outsideas though to face an enemy. The storm was majestic and his soul wentinto the mighty conflict of earth and air, whose beginning and end werein eternity. The very mountain tops were rimmed with zigzag fire, whichshot upward, splitting a sky that was as black as a nether world, andunder it the great trees swayed like willows under rolling clouds ofgray rain. One fiery streak lit up for an instant the big Pine andseemed to dart straight down upon its proud, tossing crest. For a momentthe beat of the watcher's heart and the flight of his soul stoppedstill. A thunderous crash came slowly to his waiting ears, another flashcame, and Hale stumbled, with a sob, back into the cabin. God's fingerwas pointing the way now--the big Pine was no more.
